The Ripples from Pebbles
by darthsydious
Summary: Molly has stopped by to check up on Mycroft after 'The Final Problem'. Mycroft needs to be cared for too y'all. Mentions of Sherlolly. Mycroft being good big bro. Mollcroft brotp


"How is your sister?"

Mycroft turned, surprised at Molly Hooper's question, unused to someone, anyone, asking after the until-recently forgotten Holmes. Molly Hooper had come to drop off dinner from Mrs. Hudson, and having seen the state of the kitchen, was in the midst of washing dishes left over from three days ago (it had been a long three days, to be fair)

He drew a breath, not quite prepared with how to answer her. "Eurus is…" he blinked, finding his voice had cracked, that words were difficult to find and there was a lump in his throat. Years of being unable to even talk of her, suddenly smashed to bits. The events of the past three days came to a screaming halt, and he suddenly felt unsure of...anything. "She is a shell," he forced out at last. Moving to the kitchen table, he sat down, keeping his back to Molly. Covering his face in his hand, he breathed evenly, tears beginning to fall. Lost potential, lost genius, lost sister.

A small hand covered his own, and he jumped, startled. Slowly, gently, Molly curled her fingers around his free hand. She said nothing, only watched him as he began to uncontrollably sob. Shame-faced, he chewed on his lip, willing himself to stop but finding he had no strength. His sister was broken and he didn't know how to care for her.

"It- it was my fault," he stuttered out. "All of it- all-all-" he shook his head.

"You did what you had to do," Molly soothed. "You sacrificed your family for the good of the world, you couldn't have known-"

"I weighed the options, I knew what I was doing, I counted out half a dozen variables," he interrupted, at last finding his voice. He cleared his throat, digging through his pockets before he realized he had no kerchief in his waistcoat pocket. "Every choice I made, I knew it would have an effect, a greater effect on everything than the first choice, every single time."

"Mycroft," she squeezed his hand, and he realized he'd begun to shout. He disliked shouting in a woman's presence (call him old-fashioned), and felt himself grow ashamed yet again. "I know what happened, John told me what went on, the choices everyone's made-"

"I trust he won't be publishing this particular case," Mycroft interrupted sourly.

"He won't," Molly promised. "He's told me he won't, too personal, but he did tell me about the well…about Victor Trevor…"

Mycroft felt his heart give a sickening flop. "I send his family anonymous donations every year," he murmured softly. "Flowers on the grave…funded the other children's savings accounts so that they could go to university…even bought his parents a cottage in the Downs…" he shrugged, smiling bitterly at his lap. "None of it is enough."

"I know why you did what you did," she said quietly. "Why all these years you've monitored Sherlock, why you tried to bribe John and I to watch him, why you put your sister so far away from the world and everything she loved."

"Do you?" he asked, looking at her, pain flashed in his eyes, disbelief that she could possibly understand his choice.

"Because you knew whatever happened to Victor might happen to Sherlock,"

Mycroft stared. He suddenly felt as if he was thirteen all over again,

 _Watching Sherlock run sobbing through the field to the woods, calling for Victor. His parents, Victor's parents, the police, the neighborhood all frantically looking for the little boy who could not answer. Amidst the chaos of flashing lights, search and rescue dogs and frantic shouting, there stood Eurus, smiling pleasantly at the mayhem that had come about by her hands. She looked with fascination at Mr. and Mrs. Trevor who wept, red-faced and uncontrollable, calling and calling for the boy who would not be found for many years to come. She saw Mycroft looking at her, her eyes twinkled, and she began to sing that frustrating riddle again, skipping off towards the house._

"Yes," he blinked, cheeks wet with tears again, Mycroft sighed as if his life were going out of him. He felt boneless and weary.

"You couldn't let her take him from you," Molly said softly. "So you chose, you had to make the choice no brother should ever have to make, and you chose which sibling to protect."

"I thought this way…I could at least protect them both, Sherlock in London…Eurus in Sherrinford, and she-she was safe there, at first. I called regularly, every week, I left explicit instruction, I made sure she had the proper care and keeping-"

"You did everything you could, everything you thought was best for her, best for you and Sherlock and your parents." Molly soothed, reaffirming him. "My dad used to say that when we know better, we do better. Now you know, and you're taking appropriate steps."

"This…experiment of hers though," Mycroft shook his head. "It's broken her, she's unresponsive now, Sherlock got through to her that night…but none of us know where to go from here."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure you all will," she answered. "Give her time, she needs time, for so long she was living her worst fears, being pushed aside for someone else her whole life…" Molly suddenly felt how well those words applied to her. "It's not at all an enjoyable existence," she managed a small smile then, shrugging. "It's jarring…when the person you've wanted to notice you for so long finally does, and you wonder if reality will be as good as what you'd been hoping for."

"She's in shock," Mycroft agreed. "I don't know as she will ever be whole again, she was never well to begin with but…with proper care…proper, safe, visits, there is still some good that may come of this."

"It is what it is, and what it will be…" Molly shrugged. "It all depends on how you act now that will determine your sister's health."

They fell to silence, drained and thinking on still what needed to be done when suddenly Molly's phone rang, making them both jump.

"Sorry I- um, the volume was up I didn't-" she dug through her bag for her mobile, checking to see who was calling. "It's Sherlock."

"You ought to answer it then," Mycroft replied in a way that reminded Molly very much of Mary Watson.

Swiping the screen, she held the phone to her ear. "Hello Sherlock…yes I'm fine…I'm at your brother's house…oh he needed cheering up, same as the rest of us," she glanced at him, biting her cheek to keep from laughing as he looked indignantly at her. "We made popcorn and we're just finishing tea now- what? Oh yes I can be home in a half-hour, well maybe longer, traffic this time of day, trying to get to the middle of London-" she suddenly blushed and laughed. "You liked that, did you? I thought you said humor wasn't my strong-suit," another pregnant pause, then she looked at Mycroft. "No I haven't said yet,"

Mycroft quietly got to his feet, busying himself with emptying the kettle and putting the cups in the sink. By the time he'd finished, Molly had finished her conversation and hung up.

"I'll send for my driver, you'll get home faster," Mycroft said, and Molly smiled her thanks. He saw her to the door, waiting with her for the car to pull around.

"We had it out a day ago," she said suddenly, turning to look up at him. "Sherlock and I."

"Did you?" he asked. "And? Has he apologized?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes and no…" her expression was serious, but there was warmth in her eyes, and the shyest of blushes beginning to form. "It wasn't how he wanted to tell me, when he said he loved me. He'd said it first, because I asked him to, said that he loved me, I mean, and then…then he said he realized it had always been true, and…" she shrugged, lifting her eyes, meeting his gaze. Her face was shining, smiling beatifically. "We had a long talk day before yesterday and then again this morning, we both want the same thing, not quite sure how to get there, but…" she fingered a chain that hung around her neck, and Mycroft saw. "I think we'll figure it out."

"May I?" he asked, nodding to it.

"Oh, yes," she tugged at the chain, pulling the rest of it from her blouse. On the end hung an engagement ring, one Mycroft recognized from his mother's jewelry box. "It was your grandmother's," she confirmed. "He'd gotten it on the way home. We're keeping things private for now, only John knows, and you now too. Nothing is set yet, but we decided that for just now, this is what we want."

"And you are happy?"

Chewing her bottom lip, her smile reached her eyes, and she seemed to glow from within. "Yes. Yes I think…" a giggle escaped her, she sniffled, wiping her teary eyes again. Mycroft found himself pleased at her lack of words, at her truly happy state. "I don't know what to think, just that I sometimes feel as if I might burst. It isn't how either of us wanted it to happen, but then things never happen in the usual way when it comes to Sherlock."

"I am pleased then," Mycroft said and meant it. "I expect this happy news means my brother is staying at your flat then, rather than at Doctor Watson's while Baker Street is being built up."

"Yes," again she blushed. "Mrs. Hudson is with John and Rosie, she wanted to be there to help with the baby, and she insisted there wasn't room for him…too…" both knew the excuse was flimsy, neither seemed to care.

"I am delighted," Mycroft said then. "Only do promise me you won't take another five bloody years to sort things out between the pair of you, once mummy gets wind of this she'll never let you have a moments peace until you both say 'I do'."

She laughed, nodding, wiping her eyes once more as she turned to go.

He followed her down the front steps, opening the car door for her. "To Doctor Hooper's flat, Georg-"

"No, actually he's going to meet me half-way," Molly corrected.

Mycroft straightened a little, wondering if Molly understood the double meaning in her choice of words. He didn't have to wonder long, for Molly turned back to him, smiling at him through the open window. "He's finally meeting me half-way."

"Then the rest will be up to you my dear." On impulse, he bent and kissed her forehead. "Do see my brother behaves himself!" he called as he stepped back and the car began to pull away. Molly poked her head out the window.

"Don't I always?"

Mycroft watched the car turn down the drive and head out towards London. It had been a long three days, a long, long time since he had held any hope for things to look better. Better for himself, for Sherlock, for Eurus. Now though, watching the car pull further and further away, knowing Molly Hooper was being whisked off to meet the man who loved her, and whom she loved in return, he felt himself breathe somewhat easier. True, Sherlock and Molly at last coming together did nothing with Eurus' condition, nor the decades of quarrels and petty disputes between himself and Sherlock, but it did prove that people like Molly, people who always looked for the good, who seemed to radiate hope when all was lost, they were needed for people like him. For the first time in far too long, Mycroft knew he would sleep, and sleep deeply that night, knowing Sherlock was well and truly on his way to being well again.


End file.
